“Is that all?” Omar looked at her, but saw nothing. There was a face of course, a familiar face with dark eyes and full lips and long lashes, all framed in dark hair and bright jewels, but he had seen all of these before. There was nothing new, nothing worthwhile to see in her now.
“All? It’s everything. And sex! Glorious sex! You remember sex, don’t you, Bashir? You rode me once, when I was mortal and fragile, when I was so proud of what I could do for a man,” she said. “But now, I can look back on those days and see what a child I was. The pleasures of the flesh are without number, without measure. There are entire books, entire schools across this wondrous world devoted to the study of pleasure, and I have studied them all. I have built their toys and worn their costumes, but I have done so much more. I have created new lovers, creatures far more sensual than any man or woman, creatures that can ravish me for hours and days. They serve my every desire, bring to life my every fantasy, and bring me to new heights of ecstasy the likes of which no man or woman has ever experienced. I have ridden such creatures to death many times.”
“Is that all?” he whispered.
She leaned away. “You’re such a fool. God. Heaven. Souls. Death. The meaning of life. The meaning of the universe. Why do you think such things even exist? We are human. We are flesh. We eat, and we rut. You think you are something better than a worm because you are capable of thinking such a thing, but you’re wrong. There isn’t anything more to this world, to this life, to this existence. This is all we are. Creatures. Simple creatures, all enslaved and bound to follow the same natural laws. Survive. Reproduce. Even you in all your brave inventions with your immortality, you’ve done nothing more than find a new way to play the game, still following the same rules. We all want to go on living. That’s all. The sage and the idiot, the warrior and the leper, all want to live. They eat and rut and die. The only difference between them, and us, and the worms is this.” She held up the sun-steel pendant hanging around her neck.
Omar shook his head. “There is so much more to life.”
“Yes, of course there is,” she said gently. “There’s pain and fear, and ten thousand other words for pain and fear. There is horror and terror, frustration, misery, depression, self-loathing, confusion, bewilderment, hatred, sorrow, and on and on. But why dwell on that if you don’t have to? I don’t. I dwell in joy. I explore joy. I create joy. And yes, I am quite selfish with my joy, but the world is young and I’m not getting any older. Perhaps one day I will share my joy with the world. Perhaps one day every man and woman in every nation will experience the pleasures that I now luxuriate in.”
“I shudder to think.” Omar closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opened them again to narrow slits.
“Why?” She leaned down and folded her arms on the table and rested her chin on her arms right in front of his face. “What is it about happiness that so frightens you?”
Omar said nothing.
I believe she’s wrong, but I can’t say why. How can I? How do I explain to her that my faith is something better, when I have nothing to show for it, and she has so much to show for her lusts?
“No answer?” Lilith’s voice was soft and gentle, a graceful sound that verged on the musical, as though she’d rather be singing than speaking. There was no anger in her now, no sharpness or hardness. This was her world, and she was in control, without fear. “Tell me about your noble life, Bashir. I know that you’ve spent four thousand years traveling the world, making people immortal and asking them to learn things for you. But I want to know what it has all added up to. Have you found happiness? Have you built great works? Have you transformed the world to better fit your wills and desires and visions?”
He swallowed. “No.”
“Tell me.”
Omar swallowed again and looked at her. The face that gazed back at him was calm and lovely, young and full of innocent expectation, awaiting his answer, any answer, without judgment. He said, “I have destroyed nations, and cultures. I have killed thousands, both with my own hands and through my actions. I have caused plagues and fires, famines and floods. I have driven men and women mad. I have turned the virtuous into the depraved. I’ve made princes into monsters, and lovers into traitors. I have built two great houses dedicated to death and greed, and filled them with killers and slavers. And so much more than I can scarcely stand to think it, much less say it. And the worst part of it all… is that I never knew what I was doing.”
She nodded slowly, still no trace of emotion on her face except curiosity and patience. “I’ve killed, too. Not thousands, I don’t think. Hundreds, more likely. But one at a time. Never by plague or madness or anything that you described. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to have lived a life such as yours.”
He turned his face toward the ceiling. “Don’t pity me. Don’t you dare. Not you. Not here. I can’t…” He closed his eyes again and focused on the feeling of the air sweeping in and out of his lungs, on the soft pounding of his heart, on anything other than the woman staring at him.
“Why not me? Why not here?” she asked.
“You’ve imprisoned me in a tomb deep in the earth and turned my arm into that hideous, disgusting thing.” He coughed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to let the tears escape again.
“Is that all?”
Pain exploded through Omar’s right arm and he snapped his head over to see Lilith slicing into his beetle-arm with a slender knife. As he gasped, she reached inside the black armored limb with her bare fingers and yanked out a tiny sliver of gold, which she tossed onto another, smaller table behind her.
Then she leaned forward again on the edge of his table, her chin on her bloody palm and a look of utter serenity in her eyes. “Better?”
Omar stared at his deformed, inhuman arm with its violent gash and splash of blood, and within four or five heartbeats it was smooth brown skin and hair and nails again, just as it always had been. The foul sensation of being a soft bundle of nerves inside a chitin shell evaporated and he once again felt solid and whole. He flexed his fingers one by one and felt his nails scratching lightly on his palm. The knife wound was already gone, already healed, already closed and forgotten without leaving the faintest mark.
He lay his head back down on the table and heaved a long, deep sigh. He was still a prisoner, still chained to a table, still able to see the sickly woman with the writhing tentacles, still feeling the shackles digging into his body, and yet… the veil of the nightmare had lifted.
I’m still myself. Still human. Still a man. I’m not some creature, not a slave. I am Omar Bakhoum, and Bashir, and Grigori, and all the others right back to Thoth. I am alive, and I am sane, and this insanity needs to end.
He opened his eyes and looked at the beautiful young woman staring down at him. He said, “Much better, thank you. Now if you could do something about these chains, I’d be quite appreciative.”
She smiled. “Probably not appreciative enough.” Lilith straightened up and headed back toward her chair.
“So what now?” he asked. “Games? Feasts? Orgies?”
“Certainly,” she said in all sincerity. “For me, yes. But for you? No. You’re too valuable to me, like Horus and the others. You can serve me as few others can. I’ll have to think awhile about how best to use you.”
“If immortals are so valuable to you, why don’t you just make more?”
“Ah! Now there is an intelligent question,” she said. By the sounds she made, Omar guessed that she was settling back into her cushioned throne and picking at her grapes. She continued, “And the answer is… it’s not worth the effort.” She laughed.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, drawing out a living soul, trapping it in the hot sun-steel, forging and sealing the pendant, all while keeping the person alive? Well, just talking about it is exhausting. It’s a complicated and delicate procedure, and one that I’ve only attempted once,” Lilith said. “And then what would I have? Another you? Another me? Anot
her Horus or Gideon? That’s dangerous, too dangerous for my blood. I thought you would have realized by now that I’m not very ambitious. Remind me, please, which one of us built two temples to greed and power? Oh yes, that was you, not me.”
Omar grimaced.
“I’ve built a temple to pleasure. My pleasure. My fantasies, my joys. And while I have toyed with the notion of making this circle of one into a circle of many, I don’t really want to bother.” She laughed. “Can you imagine me ending up like Osiris and Isis? Not exactly the romantic future I aspire to. So no, I don’t make others immortal. It would only complicate things, and I like things simple.”
“And that’s why you killed Bastet?”
Lilith sighed. “Oh, for pity’s sake, that heart didn’t belong to Bastet. It belonged to Anubis.”
Omar felt his own aching heart stop as the revelation shot through his veins like ice water. For an instant, he didn’t dare to hope that she was telling the truth. He couldn’t stand to think his little girl was still alive only to lose her again. “You can’t know that.”
“Of course I can. Osiris’s heart tarnished after all those centuries in his dank little tower, and it turned his skin green,” she said. “Don’t tell me it never occurred to you that the same thing had turned Anubis’s skin black?”
“Turned him black?” Omar frowned. “But… he was always very dark…”
“No, he was just like the rest of his family,” she said. “I met them not long after you made me a part of this little world of yours. Anubis went off on that sojourn of his, if you recall. He spent two hundred years in that desert monastery. Something about the heat and the sand must have altered his sun-steel heart, because he came back with midnight skin. The loveliest I’ve ever seen. Not that he could be tempted, but still, he was delicious to the eye.”
“So you saw…?”
“Yes, there were black stains in the crevices of the heart I burned.” She slurped from a goblet noisily. “I must say, for the man who invented the science of immortality, you seem to know almost nothing about it.”
Omar blinked and swallowed.
I think I saw the black stains. I think she’s telling the truth. Anubis, I’m so sorry. But… Bastet… still alive. My little one…
“I mean, what have you been doing with yourself all these years?” Lilith mused. “You talk about death and disaster, but weren’t you the one on the quest for ultimate knowledge? Was the questing so much fun that you simply forgot about the knowledge part?”
“I… was easily distracted.”
Lilith laughed. “Distracted? I could teach you a thing or two about distraction.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t.”
“Mm.” Lilith chewed on something, making many soft wet sucking sounds. “You know, I’m quite tempted to take you downstairs and torture you just a little with my friends and toys, but really, what would be the point? Either you’d enjoy it or you wouldn’t. And either way would be work for me, and that does not appeal. So I think I’ll retire by myself for a few hours while I ponder what to do with you. I hope the screams won’t bother you too much. Good night!”
Her laughter followed her out the door and down the passageway. Omar sighed.
Alone at last. And whole. And Bastet is alive.
He leaned his head up and looked at the servant woman. She was slumped against the wall, her eyes wide and glassy, her tentacles no longer twitching or curling.
Oh God…
Chapter 25
Grief
Asha woke to the gentle rocking sensation of someone shaking her shoulder and whispering her name. She opened her eyes and saw just a few paces away Wren spread-eagled on the floor, her red hair strewn over her blanket, drool glistening on her lip, a mongoose curled up on her belly, and a thin snore whistling through her nose. In the distant shadows, the bizarre figures of Isis and Horus hung from their chains, still and silent.
She turned and looked up into the wide, smiling eyes of a handsome young man.
“Sorry to wake you,” Gideon whispered. He nodded at the prisoners. “I see we have another friend here.”
Asha sat up and wrapped her warm wool blanket around her shoulders. “He came after sunset. I think he came looking for his mother. Wren and I captured him the same way we caught Isis. No trouble to speak of. We’re both fine.”
“Good, good.” Gideon sat down beside her on the cold dirt floor. “I wish I had such good news. I never found Horus myself. Just a smashed up street and a lot of scared people. It sounded like Anubis had been there too, but I never found him. Some of the witnesses said he was out in the fields to the east of the city, but by then it was already dark and I didn’t think I’d be able to find him, so I came back here.”
“What about Bastet? Did you see her?” Asha asked.
“No.” Gideon rubbed his lip with his thumb. “But as long as Isis and Horus are here, then she’s in no danger.”
Asha nodded.
Maybe.
“Would you mind staying here with Wren and watching our guests for a while?” she asked. “I’m going to take a look around for Bastet.”
“Are you sure?” Gideon smiled a little. “I mean, I know she looks like a little girl, but she’s four thousand years old and can’t be killed.”
“I know, but she can be hurt, in her own way.” Asha stood up. “And I need something to do.”
“Sure.” Gideon nodded and scooted back against one of the wooden crates to sit more comfortably. “Good luck out there.”
“Thanks.” Asha settled her blanket and her medicine bag on her shoulders, and headed out into the night.
It was very late or very early, and while dawn was still hours away Asha felt entirely rested and entirely awake as she walked alone through the empty, silent streets. She headed east, watching the sky for the first pale hints of a sunrise she had no real desire to see.
Let this night go on forever. Leave tomorrow beyond the veil. I don’t want to see what I’ll become when the new day begins. I was Asha of Kathmandu, a healer. I survived the doctors of Ming, and the Sons of Osiris, and even the golden dragon itself, only to be destroyed here, stamped out of existence by my own pride and impatience and stupidity.
People are still suffering and dying.
More may die today.
How many will die because of me?
She quickened her pace and hurried through the vacant market squares and the deserted avenues and the empty parks, always heading east, always watching the dark horizon for a glimmer of light. She found the street where the corners of the houses and the windows had been broken, where the rubble lay scattered in the road, where even at this hour there were candles flickering behind the glass and human shadows huddled in the corners, waiting for day.
With her dragon’s ear, Asha heard the souls of the families in the houses. Their souls hummed and sighed with fatigue and fear, but the emotions were all blunted and worn with time, fading away as the night wore on. And she knew that when the sun rose and the shadows vanished, the specter of whatever had frightened these people would vanish completely and life would resume again in all its color and strength. So she continued east, looking and listening for Bastet.
When the sky finally blushed in soft grays and yellows, Asha was striding down a dusty path with only a handful of small cottages dotting the roadside. On either side she saw young gardens full of tiny sprouts, brightly colored flowers, and delicate vine tendrils in rich beds of dark earth. There were long plowed fields as well and she wondered what would emerge from them over the summer and autumn months. Trees lined the road and the fields, rising high above the tall grasses. Huge sycamores cast long shadows over the land, shorter mulberries shushed and waved in the breeze, and rough-barked palms leaned here and there over the road bearing the buds of a fruit she had never seen before.
Asha’s golden ear listened to the soul-sounds of the land of Aegyptus for the first time since arriving in the country, and she head a chorus of ancient and th
riving creatures that she had never known before.
There was a time when I lived for this. Just this. Experiencing new places, new plants, new animals. Spending days in one place to dig in the soil, to sniff the roots, to taste the flowers, to study the beetles and butterflies.
It seems like another life now. Someone else’s life.
She knelt at the side of the road and plucked a small red flower. As she stared into it, she wondered what oils or seeds she might take from it, what medicines or foods might be made from it. She wondered what it was called. But she didn’t wonder long.
I have to find Bastet.
She slipped the flower away into her bag and walked on.
Her dragon’s ear went on cataloging and sifting through the soul-sounds around her. Grasses, trees, and flies were common. People and pack animals were fewer and farther between. But none of them resembled the doubled humming of an immortal and her sun-steel heart.
Closing her eyes to the glare of the bright sliver of sunlight blazing on the edge of the world, Asha wandered off the dirt road into the tall grass, angling southward across a trickle of cold water in a ditch and over a small rise toward a copse of sycamores. From there she turned a bit more to the south, her eyes still closed and her golden ear searching for something, anything, that might be Bastet.
Eventually she found the sound. Under the creaking of the locusts and the shivering of the tall grass, and between the cries of the shearwaters and storm-petrels in their nests by the distant sea, Asha heard the sweet duet of a young soul singing with itself. But that soul was singing a dirge, a mournful cry of aching loss and despair.
At the top of a steep hill, she found the Aegyptian girl sitting in a circle of trampled grass. Bastet’s black and red dress lay wrinkled and twisted around her legs, and the little embroidered cats were tumbled upon each other in the folds. Her black cat’s mask had slipped off her head and fallen to the ground, where three lean and tawny little wildcats sat licking their whiskers and flicking their tails in silence.
Chimera The Complete Duet Page 45
